


Rest Day

by chromaticality



Category: Free!
Genre: Established Relationship, Grinding, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Series, college-student!makoto, dumb happy boyfriends, handjobs, i might have a problem, lazy morning sex, my second sleep-centric smut fit, olympian-in-training!haru, thigh grinding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-12
Updated: 2014-10-12
Packaged: 2018-02-20 20:23:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2441843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chromaticality/pseuds/chromaticality
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'Haru only made a garbled, sleepy exhale that sounded suspiciously like Makoto's name and tried to turn toward him, but Makoto held him in place. “No, stay there. Let me do it.”'</p><p>Monday through Saturday, they work hard. Sundays are for relaxing, and rediscovering each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rest Day

The first red rays of dawn worked their way across the white bedsheet. Watching them blearily, it took Makoto several minutes to realize he was awake. Several minutes more to realize it was rest day, that Haruka was still curled up in a dark ball next to him. He was turned away, breathing evenly. 

Makoto rolled over to tuck himself around him, slinging one arm around his waist. He loved rest days, when Haru didn't need to wake up at some god-awful early hour to jog, eat an absurd number of calories, and go to training. Haru never complained about the regimen—he'd always been an early riser, and in Makoto's opinion he seemed to thrive on the grueling schedule—but it did leave him exhausted enough that Sunday was a welcome relief. 

They'd both forgone shirts in the late summer heat, wearing just loose pajama pants. He pressed himself against the warm back in front of him, his nose in the crook of Haru's neck, and closed his eyes. He'd made Sundays rest days for himself, too, working hard to get the majority of his classwork done by Saturday evening. 

Sometimes they went out on dates, went to a movie or a park, ran errands together. On rare occasions Haru would insist on going to a pool together, like the old days—not to train, but to swim with each other. Most often, though, they would wander lazily around the apartment, half-watching TV or doing laundry while chatting about their week, taking calls from their parents or friends. Rin was more of an email person, but Nagisa and Rei called up just about every Sunday. 

Breathing deeply into his neck, Makoto shifted his hand to splay across the other's stomach, moving his thumb idly across the lean muscles. He really should just move in, he thought to himself for the thousandth time. He still had his own apartment a few trains stops away. Closer to the school by about forty-five minutes. But he spent half the week here anyway, and (if he was being honest) the extra commute was worth waking up to Haru's goodbye kiss as he went out jogging. 

He stilled guiltily when Haruka shifted, straightening out just a bit. It was still too early for Haru to wake up. Too late, his breathing changed and he shifted again, pressing closer. 

“M'to,” he slurred, and despite his guilt Makoto's heart squeezed a bit at the sound of his name said so sleepily, so relaxed. 

“Sorry, go back to sleep.”

“Time...?”

“Early still. Rest day,” he reminded, pressing a kiss against the back of his neck. His own voice was still rough with sleep. He blinked when Haru shivered lightly in a very familiar way. “You're—”

Haru made a contented noise. “S'good.” 

“Feels nice?”

“Mm.” And wow, he really must still be mostly asleep if he was being that open about it. Makoto rewarded him with another kiss, stroking his side like a cat, and Haruka shivered again. His own body was stirring with sleepy interest, pressed against him like that. 

He moved his left arm to slip underneath the curve of Haru's hip, embracing him fully and placing a series of slow, open-mouth kisses against his neck. His right wandered, sweeping up to brush against his chest, his collarbone, slowly down to trail the v-shaped muscles leading into his pajamas. “Gonna take care of you, okay?” 

Haru only made a garbled, sleepy exhale that sounded suspiciously like Makoto's name and tried to turn toward him, but Makoto held him in place. “No, stay there. Let me do it.”

It felt good, to spoon him like this, listen to the little noise he made when Makoto used the hand under him to thumb at his chest. Sometimes he like to do just that for ages, kissing him senseless. Haru was sensitive enough that teasing him like that for too long left him desperate and flushed. But this wasn't the time for that. Makoto wanted him relaxed. It felt good to pamper him every now and then. 

So he didn't tease, just kept thumbing at his nub while the other hand moved to trail fingers against the front of his pants. Haruka was already mostly hard, and when Makoto grasped him loosely through the fabric he inhaled softly. He gave him one long, lingering stroke, then another, feeling the shape of him, the thick ridge and tapering head. 

Haru's body was trying to tense up against him. “Relax,” he said, sucking lightly at the crook of his neck and stroking again. “I'll do everything—yeah, just like that.” It was gratifying when Haru went boneless against him again, letting him have full control, too sleep-drunk to do anything else. His own clothing was growing tight, but he resisted the urge to grind against where Haru's back pressed against him. 

He kept stroking slowly, careful of too much friction from the fabric. Haru's hands were on his arms, not stopping him or clinging, just touching as though grounding himself. The room was quiet except for the sound of shifting fabric and Haru's quickened breath. He was heavy in his hand now, fully erect, and Makoto pulled away for a moment to lick a stripe of wetness into his palm. 

Haru sighed with just a hint of a moan when Makoto slipped under the pants, gripping him properly. One slick slide from base to tip to spread the wetness around, and Makoto was surprised to feel Haru's own wetness starting to join it. He was normally stubborn, holding back, but it didn't seem like he was capable in this state. A flash of hot desire jolted through him. He wanted to feel Haruka lose it, just like this, still sleepy and loose-limbed.

“That's good,” he whispered, dragging his fingers on the upstroke the way he knew Haru loved. Makoto pressed himself again against his neck, suckling lightly and lathing his tongue against a sensitive spot. He shivered and his shoulder fell invitingly, opening to let Makoto do as he pleased. 

Makoto's hand picked up an unhurried rhythm, tight and hot, enough pressure to make Haru's breath come in quivery, satisfied waves. Stroking up the shaft, across the thick vein, cupping up and over the ridge to palm the head in a slick circle before smoothing back down. Again and again, working him, his other hand moving to press low against his stomach to keep him from trying to thrust. 

And it really wasn't going to last long, with the way Haru was twitching and pulsing in his hand, a high whimper catching in his throat when he focused on the sensitive head, palming him a few times before stroking again, increasing pressure and speed just a little, just enough. Haru shifted needily, twining his legs with Makoto's, unintentionally brushing against Makoto's own arousal. 

He swallowed against a suddenly dry throat, trying to calm himself down. “Relax,” he said again, as much to himself as to Haru, who panted but stopped moving. Makoto could feel the tremble working through his thighs, a sure sign Haru was close. “You can come any time you want, Haru,” he whispered into his ear as his grip tightened again, and the tremble intensified. “That's it, just a little more, let go,” he urged, kissing gently, gently against his neck—and Haru was coming, gasping with it, shaking himself apart as thick hot spurts fell over Makoto's hand. 

He stroked him through it, helping him through the orgasm, biting his own lip with Haru moaned his name as an aftershock hit. He sounded so _gone_ , so out of it. 

Finally Makoto pulled away, wiping his hand on a corner of the bedsheet. Haru took the opportunity to finally roll over to face him, immediately tugging him into a kiss. He couldn't help but smile, even as he slipped his tongue into Haru's mouth. Haruka might not be the most verbal person, but when he kissed him like this it was like language—gratitude and straight-forward, unwavering love. 

He caught Haru's shaking hands as they started to move south, breaking the kiss. A glance at his face revealed a sinfully rumpled and wiped-out expression, blue eyes heavily lidded, looking like he'd left his brain on the bedside table. “It's all right, Haru. I know you're still tired, so just go back to sleep.”

He looked like he might just pass out, but Haru shook his head firmly. “You too,” he said hoarsely, moving so that his leg was pressed between Makoto's. Makoto sucked in a startled breath as a thigh nudged against his neglected arousal through his pajamas. It was shockingly good, that thick unyielding pressure. 

Haru glanced up, watching his reaction. “Like this?” He asked, pressing up again. Makoto groaned and dropped his head, a little embarrassed. 

“Yeah, that's good,” he admitted, and allowed Haru to pull him into another kiss, deeper but still half-clumsy with exhaustion. Haru started flexing his thigh slowly, more heavily muscled than ever from training, and Makoto was turned on enough that each minute shift felt like heaven. He was more worked up than he'd thought, just from listening to Haru come undone. 

He released Haru's hands and one went into his hair, scratching luxuriously against his scalp. The other went to his hip and push-pulled. He was too bulky for Haru to move by himself, but he got the message, moving himself against the thigh and moaning into Haru's mouth.

Haru shifted his leg to a more intense angle, still flexing as Makoto rutted in uncomplicated, heady pleasure. He broke the kiss this time, licking the shell of Makoto's ear in a way that always drove him crazy, sent his hips stuttering into a more urgent rhythm. “Haru,” he groaned, “That's not fair.”

He only laughed softly and did it again, before ducking his head to mouth at the pulse of his neck. His leg moved in time with Makoto's thrusts, sinuous and unrelenting, heat rapidly pooling in his stomach. He was going to make a mess of his pajama pants, he realized dimly, but found he couldn't muster up enough concern to stop and take them off. It felt amazing, the friction and insistent pressure. 

“Come on,” Haru was murmuring, kissing him until it was like his head was full of static, riding his leg and suddenly very close, on the cusp. Haru sucked on his tongue and flexed his leg, and Makoto was coming helplessly, grinding down blissfully as he hummed encouragingly into his mouth, arching against him until it was over.

He took a steadying breath and opened his eyes to see Haruka gazing at him with sleepy satisfaction. Makoto was tired himself, again, lazy and lax as he bent to give Haru one more soft kiss. 

They took a moment to shuck their dirty clothing and settle themselves, winding up with Makoto's arm around him and Haru's head on his shoulder, already nodding off. The sun had hardly risen at all, and it was a bit embarrassing how quickly they had both gone over the edge, but Makoto couldn't bring himself to care. Not with the contented way Haru was falling asleep against him, the way his own eyelids were sliding shut, the way pulling the warm body closer to him felt like coming home.


End file.
